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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23777158">That Funny Feeling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerstreetchick22/pseuds/bakerstreetchick22'>bakerstreetchick22</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1960's AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Based On Buzzfeed Unsolved, Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural, Coming Out, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mutal Pining, Pining, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Tension, Ryan Bergara Being an Idiot, Ryan's a jock, Shane Madej In Love, Shane's a beatnick hipster, Slow Burn, The Ghoul Boys (Buzzfeed Unsolved), featuring weed head artist shane, gay pining, rivals lovers, shyan, they don't get along, until they do :)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:33:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,497</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23777158</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerstreetchick22/pseuds/bakerstreetchick22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Living in the happening scene of 1960's California, Ryan has been leading the all American life. He's gotten good grades, lettered in Basketball, stayed out of trouble, and has been an all around stand-up guy. </p><p>But now, in the summer before going off to college, a series of encounters with a lanky, irritating and chaotic hipster slowly dismantle his world &lt;3</p><p>(lol ps heavily inspired by the number of times Shane has worn a black turtle neck, dress like shaggy, or just generally been a creative lit professor doing his best)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ryan Bergara &amp; Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cosmic Opposites</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi All!</p><p>This is just a fun little idea that I had from seeing Shane in his turtle necks and me being generally just being obsessed with the 60's. Also, I just love the idea of Shane being a chaotic artist with Ryan being a flustered mess. </p><p>I hope you enjoy reading! (comments and kudos &lt;3 always appreciated!!)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The air smelled like sickness, damp and sticky, with a sweet aftertaste that hung on too long to be clean. The vaporizing southern Cali heat coated Ryan’s lungs, making him strain for breath. Dewy residue rested on the plant leaves, and the windows sills, and around the backs of his knees. He swung dejectedly on the back pavilion while his parents threw a party inside of people they wanted to impress- the Madejs. They were tall, that you could say, tall and Midwestern- new to Cali. Nothing was really wrong with them other than the fact that this had been the third party like this of the month- with a strange family whose father, like his father, was into teeth. He knew that his old man was trying vainly to get him interested in joining the family profession of unhinging jaws- but he honestly could care less about that.</p><p>In fact, he could care less about a lot of things. He was an upstanding guy alright. And he had done everything a guy was to do in high school- lettered in basketball- went steady a couple of times- gotten a car. It was the dream. But as he looked through the back windows, watching his family and the other yammering on from a distance, he really wondered what it was all about. It was summer- his last summer before going to university- and so far nothing had happened but bland dinner parties like this one. He became arrested with the feeling that time was ticking away and that soon he too would be entertaining people he hardly knew in the attempt to solidify his own son’s future. It was too much. But he knew without a doubt that it would eventually come to pass- he would live in a suburb not far from here and twist wires into little kids' mouths. Ryan was responsible like that. He was a good kid, unlike some. </p><p>Click! </p><p>He turned in surprise at the noise that came from behind him. Leaning up against the side of the back garage, he saw a tall and lanky guy around his age languidly lighting a funny-looking cigarette. He had a soft but sort of longish wry face- with the dark-rimmed glasses of a jazz-head. In all, he was dressed with the sort of cool cultivation reserved only for those advertising how little they cared about dressing. With a black turtleneck running into black slim pants with pointed leather boots, he wreaked of beat poetry and philosophical delinquency. In a flash, it was clear that he was in direct contrast to Ryan in almost every way- a cosmic opposite. </p><p>“Who are you?” Ryan asked irritated and strangely threatened, as he sat there in his indifferent Hawaiian shirt and clean shoes. </p><p>The guy smiled, pushing back his stupidly shiny and long hair. “Just another refugee- like yourself.”   </p><p>Ryan knew he was hiding out here, but he hated being called out on it, especially by someone who obviously was making a lifestyle ducking responsibilities. Vague notions of the Madej’s having a son, who was supposedly coming but never did, floated into Ryan’s mind. “Shane?” He asked.</p><p>“You got it,” Shane exhaled another strangely sweet-smelling cloud, with an amiable and nonchalant expression. </p><p>Ryan's ears turned red, ruffled and annoyed. “Where do you get off smoking grass around here?”</p><p>“Oh, shit- sorry my dude,” Shane extended his long hand, holding the blunt like a peace offering. “I guess I forgot my manners,” </p><p>“I never do the stuff,” Ryan boiled.<br/>
“Right on,” Shane said, continuing to smoke, “I use to never do the stuff either.” He winked. </p><p>Ryan felt his patience completely fray. The nerve of this guy to hang around like he owned the place! An artist- an aloof coffee sipper- an asshole- the picture that Ryan had in his mind was becoming complete. </p><p>“Bunch of noise isn’t it.” Shane mentioned, interrupting Ryan’s string of thoughts, and gesturing at the house. </p><p>“I guess,” Ryan scoffed, even though the sentiment resonated. </p><p>Ungluing himself from the wall, Shane wandered over with an unhurried charm. Tall people were annoying like that- making every damn stride an elongated saunter. Ryan hadn't thought there were people like him in the Midwest- Christ he almost put the local hipsters to shame. </p><p>“You’re Ryan I suppose?” Shane said, even taller and friendlier up close. </p><p>Ryan nodded. “That’s what they call me Big Guy.” </p><p>Shane laughed with an irksome genuineness, either oblivious or unbothered by the cold shoulder that Ryan was obviously giving him. “You mind?” He pointed to the deck chair opposite the swing. </p><p>“My house is yours.” Ryan bristled.</p><p>“Sweet.” Shane folded himself into the deck chair opposite the swing and made himself comfortable- or at least as comfortable as someone could be given the snaking tangle that his legs made once folded on top of one another. He couldn’t sit normally- of course- why would he? </p><p>Shane took a meditative look through the window. </p><p>“I guess it’s not all bad,” He suddenly said, as if resuming some previous conversation. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“That,” He pointed at the windows, speaking like he and Ryan were from the same cloth. </p><p>Of all the rancid bullshit- Ryan steamed. “Who says it's bad at all?”</p><p>Shane shrugged, unflustered. “I don’t know man. There must be some reason why we are here and they are in there.” </p><p>We? Ryan did not like that at all. “I was just getting some air.” </p><p>“I get it,” Shane said, as if Ryan didn’t need to make up any justifications. It was understood. Their wavelengths were the same. Ryan felt a tingle of kinship- repulsive. </p><p>“You know where it’s really at?” Shane continued.</p><p>“No,” Ryan replied, anticipating something fantastic, “Tell me.” </p><p>“Antarctica.”</p><p>“What?” He had not anticipated that. </p><p>“Yeah- Like think about it, man. Up there in nature- away from all of this- just endless snow and ice. Almost no one out there. You might be the first person to step on that patch of blue ice- see what your seeing- stand where your standing. Like space without the politics. You can just be- just live... Not that you can’t live around here. That’s what everyone is doing after all. But sometimes- you know- it would be nice…”</p><p>Shane’s voice was soft- and he sounded good as he spoke- like he was speaking to you and no one else- and that he meant it. Ryan found himself listening- and what was worse- agreeing. </p><p>“You’re going to State?” Shane flowed onwards, </p><p>Ryan blinked. “Yeah.” </p><p>“Far out.” Shane took another drag. </p><p>“You going too?” Ryan said, with a strange mix of interest and loathing. </p><p>“That’s the plan man.” Shane sighed, “That’s the plan…”</p><p>They sat in silence for a while half looking at the party- half looking at each other. Every time that Shane glanced his way there was a certain magnetism that made Ryan’s breath quicken just ever so slightly. Nervous funny feelings stirred around inside him. It made him jumpy. </p><p>Quietly, Shane continued to slowly and regularly breath out little perfumed clouds, until his cigarette was diminished to ash. Flicking the bud to the ground, Shane unwound himself from the chair, straightening back out to his looming height and starting back towards the garage. </p><p>“Where are you going?” Ryan suddenly asked, unsure why. </p><p>“Oh, I don’t know, around?” Shane hunched over into himself, “You wanna come? I have got the shark out back.” He gestured vaguely over his shoulder and across the hedged fence to a low riding black coupe in the back drive.</p><p>Ryan stole a glance back inside the house- his cheeks suddenly flushing a peachy red- as for a millisecond he imagined the wild possibility of saying yes- fucking off- and getting loose somewhere in a darkened club called “The Hungry Onion” or some other bullshit- while listening to him wax on about the stupidity of society- and in a horrible twist of fate ending up enjoying it. </p><p>“I-“ Ryan could feel himself faltering, halting over himself in bubbling anxiety. “I- I gotta stay here. Sorry- I don’t really go with any scenes around here.” </p><p>There, he had said it. He felt an odd rush of relief as if he had proved something to himself.  </p><p>Shane’s brows went up. Not exactly shocked. But more like disappointed- like he was privy to something that Ryan did not know yet. </p><p>“Reliable.” Shane shrugged again in a kind of wistful way, “I respect it.” He smiled again, and a buzz shot through Ryan, making him feel even more determined not to ever go anywhere with him. </p><p>Casually, and with the same long breeze like steps he had appeared with, Shane slunk off back over to his car. Ryan’s eyes trailed him- straining to piece together how any man could be so pleasant and so maddening at the same time. </p><p>In a single swing, Shane flung his legs over his car door, and got into the driver side like some New Wave actor. Infuriating. Pretentious.  </p><p>“You know,” Shane yelled back at him, while starting the car up, “I have the idea we will see each other around.” </p><p>“Around?” Ryan repeated</p><p>“Yes,” Shane said, with a certain confidence that made Ryan wonder if he had actually been lucid for the whole interaction, “Around.” </p><p>With that, Shane took off down the alleyway that connected all the back drives of the street in a puff of dust and smoke. So he drove like a maniac too- Ryan thought- with the satisfaction of knowing that he most definitely would never have to see him again- baring the direst of circumstances. Surely, it had been a one in a million chance that they had crossed paths tonight- how often could it happen again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi guys!! Thanks so much for reading and giving your input &lt;333</p><p>Fate can really have a way of messing with people - and poor Ryan about to get dunked on</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The universe has a funny sense of irony. As soon as you are assured it works in one way it turns around and does the opposite. It rips the rules to shreds- fickle as an alley cat or the light-up wheel of an afternoon game show. </p><p>It was morning, two weeks after the unfortunate encounter in the backyard, and Ryan had adjusted to the point of forgetting it ever happened. The humdrum of suburban life has that way about it, washing out any memorable moments until they are quite the opposite, buried under a sea of daily nonsense. Ryan had actually felt quite content that morning- denial- he would later know it was called. </p><p>Shoving the remains of an egg sandwich into his mouth, Ryan left out the back door of the house, intent on taking his car down to the beach. He didn’t mind the crowd down there- mostly surfers and muscle heads. No one talked about anything but the surf today, the surf yesterday, and the promise of surf tomorrow. It was basic and as simple as vibes could get- and he liked it like that. </p><p>But as he bounded down the side lawn, he stopped in his tracks.  </p><p>The house right behind theirs, the old Robinson place, had sold and there was a mini-army of moving men swarming around the place. Their blue uniforms and thread spelled names created the impression that there was an invasion afoot. Ryan gobbled up the rest of his sandwich and hastily shifted into detective mode. </p><p>“Who’s coming in?” He asked, tapping one of the movers by the shoulder. </p><p>“How should I know kid-” The movers said lumbering away, resentful of being interrupted. </p><p>Ryan made a face. Kid? He knew he was a bit short, but he was nineteen. Not satisfied, he hung around on the back drive, laying in the back of his ramshackle convertible, pretending to read some dusty sports periodical he had back there. Every so often he would glance up at the house across the alleyway. The house was too big for an old couple, or at least he hoped. The area was seriously dry when it came to the female gender. Everyone he knew had dated everyone else- and unless you wanted to go up the 105 to Sana Monica- everyone was most likely friends with someone you had dated- and that was a no go. </p><p>He watched as a record player and some wild posters and pillows were being brought into the house. </p><p>Bingo. No one other than a fellow well- kid- would have that kind of junk. It looked pretty far out and feminine too- deep purple and rich green colors with tassels and splashes of swirly patterns.  </p><p>Who was it he wondered? A brunette- some zippy Annette Funicello doll? Maybe it was a hip blonde? A red-head? His sunglasses were nearly falling off his nose as he looked on in keen interest. </p><p>“Casing the joint?” </p><p>Ryan jumped, his magazine making a comedically loud crunch as he fumbled with it. Shane, with the sliest shit-eating grin that Ryan had ever seen, was standing behind him on the drive. </p><p>“You some kind of cat burglar God!” Ryan spat, readjusting himself in his seat, “You’d think you’ve smoked so much that you float or something.”</p><p> He smiled, amused at the situation. “Mom always wanted me to be a dancer,”</p><p>“How’s that going for you?” </p><p>“Rotten,” He said, taking the liberty of leaning against the door of the car, “Limbs too long,” He shook them out like a scarecrow, “Makes an awful mess- like a windmill I’m afraid.” </p><p>“I bet,” Ryan scoffed, suppressing a laugh as images of Shane awkwardly flailing about like a rag doll materialized in his brain. That was something he would like to see- if only just to laugh at it. Regaining his spiteful confidence he gestured out to the house. </p><p> “Does the purple belong to you?” He said, </p><p>“Some of it,” Shane shrugged, “I mean the stuff that is- not the color in general.” He paused a far away gleam in his eyes overtaking his expression, and his hands motioning around in the air. “Imagine how wild that would be- owning a color- like- like I don’t know- like the communists I imagine and their fucking red. Crazy- to think that like ‘red’ these days is like their shit and it used to be like everyone else’s. And it’s like their intellectual property now or- or something- but-” He paused again for a second. </p><p>Ryan looked on in bewilderment, opening his mouth to say something but getting cut off before anything could come out.</p><p>“Is it their property though?” Shane continued, “I guess the communists don’t own anything- like that’s the draw- it’s all-” He brought his long arms together in a strange gathering motion, “you know drawn- together and stuff. But then I guess they own everything together- or the state does- or whatever. Hell- I don’t even think they know how it works yet for as being as successful as they are at- well whatever they are doing- evangelizing the east to their cult of dictators, free food, and militarized girl scouts.” Shane put his hand to his mouth like he just solved something. “The world’s a heck of a strange place,” </p><p>Ryan squinted in confusion, as his mind waded through the literal swamp of incongruent garbage that had just come out of Shane’s mouth. He didn’t think he had ever heard someone talk so much and yet say so little in his entire life. </p><p>“Turns out it wasn’t all noise,” Shane said moving effortlessly past the previous weirdness.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“The party,” Shane said matter of factly. “While we were out back- they were in there cooking up this scheme.”</p><p>They both gazed over at the house from the car- like they were looking at some bizarre modern sculpture- trying to make sense of what fate landed them together.</p><p>“My house is your house and all that- as the wise man once said.” Shane laughed, </p><p>“Lay off it man,” Ryan sighed, the extremely unpleasantness of this whole situation settling in, “I suppose we’re supposed to be pals now or something,” </p><p>“I think that’s the general idea,” Shane replied as if he was getting a kick out of the whole thing, “Where were you vanishing to- before you came upon all this?”</p><p>“Beach.” Ryan grumbled, “I would ask you along but I suppose your kind doesn’t go out for sunshine and healthy living.” </p><p>“No- my kind-” Shane put emphasis on that, “Almost never come out during the day- as a rule.” The sarcasm was exaggerated with a bit of annoyance. “Tell me, what do you exactly think my kind are like?”</p><p>Ryan felt his face suddenly get hot. Running around the big guy was one thing- but there was something definitely combative in the air. </p><p>“Well- I don’t know,” Ryan averted his eyes, “I just think it’s pretty stupid.” </p><p>“Stupid how?”</p><p>Shit. He was serious. </p><p>“I guess-” Ryan stammered, “It’s like this is life and this is how we are living it and just because I happen to buy into it doesn’t mean I’m any less than you. You guys think the world is meaningless- chaos right- and you think that somehow in joining that chaos your gonna solve something. Well, your not- that’s not how things work- never gonna be how things work.” He shrugged, “I mean why are you even going to State- if the world is ‘a heck of a strange place.’ I mean it’s pointless isn’t it then. To continue on and do stuff and keep things up... It goes against everything you stand for… I mean what’s the point of it all.” </p><p>As Ryan finished, he felt like everything he had just said had been a mistake, and not in the way he had anticipated it could be. His chest felt tight, as a bottled up knot of undisclosed emotions clouded his mood. Shane peered down at him from down the bridge of his nose- with a silent and damning knowing.</p><p>“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” Shane recited, his eyes shifting to the middle distance.</p><p>“Why you-” </p><p>Shane jumped back as Ryan pounced out of the car. “Hold on- hold on- man- chill.” </p><p>Ryan stopped in his path, regarding Shane with a suspicious and burning expression, like he would have liked nothing more than to turn him into a grease stain.</p><p>“All I was saying,” Shane said regaining his footing against the car, “-is that you do an awful lot of thinking for someone who is proud to not use their head at all… I mean that’s why you want to hit me right- to prove that talk doesn’t do anything- that action does.” </p><p>“So you’re a psychiatrist now?” </p><p>“I don’t know man- I just make the diagnoses.” </p><p>“And what exactly are diagnosing me as?” </p><p>“Tired,” Shane said simply. </p><p>“Tired?” Ryan repeated, exasperated. </p><p>“Yeah, tired,” </p><p>“Care to elaborate?” </p><p>“Not until you care to listen.” </p><p>“Who says I’m not listening?”</p><p>“Well-” Shane’s eyes glinted, “I’m just pretty stupid, remember.”</p><p>Ryan bunched up his hands and took a shaky and deep breath. It was then that he realized that they had been having this whole scene on the back drive in clear view of the movers- like some squabbling pair of… he didn’t even want to think about it. Scrunching his face with his hand, he turned back to Shane and a strange feeling of guilt for his actions flooded him. And as he stood there- he did feel it- the tiredness. </p><p>“Well,” Shane said, satisfied that he had caused some sort of destruction, “I guess I’ll be off. Got to go back inside before I burn up- or become accidentally employed or something- right.” He put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. Even after all that he was still warm to a fault. </p><p>“Hey- hey-” Ryan stopped him, “I don’t think you’re stupid.” </p><p>Shane looked rather touched, “You know the offer still stands?” </p><p>“What offer?” </p><p>“You know- to go cut loose.” Shane kicked the dirt, restlessly, “I mean it’s no healthy living but it is definitely a way of living you know what I mean.” </p><p>Ryan did know, and he found that knowledge to be both painful and exciting. Agreeing, to what he didn’t really know, he nodded his head. Shane’s face instantly brightened. It was so bright that Ryan couldn’t even look at it- lest his expression changed too. </p><p>“Alright,” Shane rejoiced, motioning over to his car. </p><p>Ryan followed behind him- suddenly shy and unsure of what he was doing. Had it really only taken a grand some of about a half-hour for this guy to convince him into running off into some darkened hole in the wall filled with a bunch of skilled nonsense speakers? </p><p>Apparently it had, as he was getting into the little black coupe, which was almost hilariously compact for Shane’s long legs, and driving off to God knows where. This was either going to be the worst or the best decision of his life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:)))))) does this sound like a date??? maybe :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Stingray's Chapel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So Shane brings Ryan to a different side of LA. :D </p><p>Thank-you for all your lovely support and feedback it really means the world to me as a writer! I hope this chapter isn't cringe I really tried my best to capture the feeling. </p><p>&lt;3 enjoy!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The journey was wild. Vibes were all about, somewhere between East Hollywood and Elysian Park. The hot summer air flew at Ryan like a wind tunnel, as Shane drove cooly twenty miles above the speed limit.</p><p>“For a skinny guy,” Ryan talked over the noise, “You sure have a heavy foot.”</p><p>“Thanks- I have been cultivating it over the years.” Shane smiled like it was an honest day’s work.</p><p>And as much as he resented it, Ryan smiled too. He was trying his best to be miserable- to hate it. He kept on telling himself that he was here for one reason and one reason only- to prove to himself that he lived on the better side of the fence. But so far the only thing he had succeeded in doing was in noticing how long and articulate Shane’s hands were. They were so spindly, wrapping around the wheel, guiding it around with grace. The sun caught Shane’s watch face and it flashed Ryan in the eyes- and he startled- suddenly realizing that he had been staring. He was not one to stare.</p><p>He bit his lip. It must have been because Shane was such an infuriating freak of nature. Too damn tall- Hair too damn big- the hair itself added another two inches- like he needed it. What did they feed him out in the midwest? Fertilizer? Guess it was good to know that grass and coffee didn’t stunt your growth like the health teachers all purported...</p><p>In no time at all, but also not soon enough, they pulled up on some janky side street of converted houses and small shops. Ryan had lived almost all of his life in LA but he hadn’t seen this side of the city- this candy land painted psychedelic mess. Every exterior wall on the street was at least three different colors- some swirled and some slapped on- handprints on some of them. Banners for every kind of weird business were hanging up- palm readers, exotic fish dealers, a shop that only sold bonsai trees and candles- it was a trip and a half.</p><p>Beyond the environment, there were the people. Busy beyond compare with bigger problems than no doubt society could comprehend they lingered in black- or in a splash of red- or in a painted frock- here and there at wire tables and at window frames. Amongst the Beatniks there were some mods dotted about in bright tights and plastic. And at the crosswalk there was a bearded barefoot man with beads and dark sunglasses- cradling a yellow cat under his arm. He made a peace sign of acknowledgment as he unhurriedly crossed the street. Shane responded in kind- waving his arm out the side of the car.</p><p>Absurd. How long had Shane even lived in LA- two months max- how had he found this place- how was he so self assured? Was there such a harmony to this shared weirdness that it didn’t matter?</p><p>Swiveling into an alleyway Shane ground the little car to a halt- the engine lurching, hot from all the goddamn revving. Shane then swung himself out of the car just as before- without bothering to open the door- and hit the pavement like he owned the place.</p><p>Ryan followed- opening the door however- as he was both too short and too self aware to attempt anything that ridiculous. Making his best impression of a relaxed saunter, he trailed after Shane, who was already making a hasty and learned path towards the joint of interest.</p><p>“Stingray’s Chapel”</p><p>Said the sign in drippy blue letters on the wall. Noxious. Uncomfortable.</p><p>“You sure that’ll- err-” Ryan stumbled, “You know?”</p><p>Shane’s brow furrowed. The now midday sun stretched down into the alleyway. Apprehensive, Ryan’s pressed white shirt and khaki pants glowed like a blinding sign of the establishment.</p><p>“Hang tight-” Without another word Shane bounded back to the car, opened the hatch trunk, and fished out some threadbare striped sweater. Swinging the sweater about like it was something vitally important, Shane threw it at Ryan’s head.</p><p>“Geez!” Ryan flinched. He had expected words of reassurance, not assault via laundry machine roadkill. </p><p>“Slip her on!” Shane sang, proud of himself.</p><p>“You want me to put on this-” Ryan held out the sweater with one finger, “This thing!”</p><p>Shane gestured vaguely, twisting his feet and hands, and mumbled something about outward appearances and consumerism and trying to be helpful and tribes and customs. Regardless of the ramblings, the point was made. Ryan reluctantly looked down at the sweater, and stretched it over his head. It was a little too big, but it was surprisingly comfy and soft, so not entirely terrible.</p><p>Shane glowed down at Ryan, which did not make Ryan feel any better about his current appearance. But everything had a price. He could bear it. He wasn’t a loser. He could hang- it’s just that he hadn’t ever hung before- as a choice. That’s it. It was a choice. It wasn’t like he had been afraid to go against the flow. It wasn’t like he had ever stayed up at night wondering how his life could be different if he just struck out and did something wild. Certainly…</p><p>Shane leading the way, together like two thieves in the night they descended the small landing of stairs that led below to the “Chapel.” The ramshackle door opened up to a beaded curtain bunker of sleepy beats and potted palms. There was a sparse sepia toned light filtering around from the couple hanging lanterns, but otherwise it was dark, with the exception of the spotlight that was trained onto the makeshift stage of wood pallets and a piano. There was a lanky girl on the piano in a woven poncho- her jet black hair piled into a sort of nest. On the floor a man- also in a poncho- lazily beat away on a set of bongo drums. Together they created the symphonic sensation of floating in the ocean- distant- wavy- and rhythmic. The smell inside the place was heavy with kush. It burned his eyes and tingled his nose with surely illegal sensations.</p><p>Shane parted one of the beaded curtains, and made his way over to a low eastern style table. There were two fellows of the same make and model as Shane sitting there- dark clothes- dark sunglasses- chilled out. They made nods of recognition. Before all turning their gazes to Ryan.</p><p>Perhaps the sweater was not enough. Ryan sweated.</p><p>“Greetings- and such,” Said the man on the left.</p><p>“Greetings,” Ryan echoed, trying his best to seem disinterested and unfazed.</p><p>“Where do you hail from?”</p><p>“Pasadena”</p><p>“Tough,” He said, making an expression of an assumed mutual understanding.</p><p>Shane secured two extra pillows and motioned for them to sit. Ryan’s hamstrings prevented him from doing so with any sort of grace, unlike Shane, who just sort of folded downwards like an accordion or a crane.</p><p>Mom always wanted me to be a dancer. Pieces were beginning to vaguely stick.</p><p>“This is Ryan,” Shane said, “He’s on the wave.”</p><p>The two nodded again.</p><p>“I’m Steven,” said the one on the left, “That’s Andrew.”</p><p>Andrew smiled. At least the atmosphere was welcoming- if not a bit strange.</p><p>“You come here often.” Ryan asked,</p><p>“Only every other day.” Steven exclaimed, “There is nowhere else to be man.” He pointed to the poncho band. “The moods here are superb.”</p><p>“Yeah- they are,” Ryan agreed, watching the man playing the drums hypnotically. “Superb.”</p><p>Shane, who had been unusually silent during this exchange, pulled out another one of his “select” cigarettes and began puffing- amused at seeing Ryan trying to navigate things.</p><p>“You got anything new?” Steven asked, pointing his glasses down at Shane.</p><p>Shane’s preoccupation broke and in a ruffle he began looking through his pockets, and out of them he produced several wadfuls of napkins covered in scratchy writing. He threw them down on the table, like some unknown but legal tender. Steven and Andrew began rifling through them. From the corner of a page that Ryan could see it was poetry.</p><p>Ryan moved to say something, but Shane countered with an expression that told him all he needed to know. Of course he wrote- who didn’t? In fact why aren’t you? Isn’t it your social responsibility? To be heard? To be felt? To matter? Don’t you think you matter? Don’t you think you have something worthy to voice?</p><p>It was amazing- how easy it was to read Shane. A whole conversation passed between them in a barely a second over the table. Maybe the haze of weed was buzzing him, because Ryan felt a tingle run down his whole body. It crested over his head and built in his chest. Shane’s eyes glowed, as if he knew that he was doing something- and was threatening to continue to do it.</p><p>“Inspired,” Steven said, flipping through the napkin sonnets.</p><p>Andrew made a motion of agreement.</p><p>“When are you going to present?” Steven continued, sorting out the ones he liked.</p><p>“Oh I don’t know,” Shane exhaled, still looking at Ryan, “I don’t know if the audience is ready.”</p><p>Ryan knew that by audience he meant him.</p><p>“To hell with the audience!” Steven burst, “To create for the audience is the base of consumerism- we all know that- if the audience doesn’t like it then let them be challenged by it man- and if they refuse to be challenged then they don’t deserve it.”</p><p>“But-” Shane countered, knocking some soot off “There’s no use in speaking when no one’s listening,”</p><p>Ryan could feel his face burning with all the things he had said on the driveway. “uh…”</p><p>The table turned to him.</p><p>“Well, I think the audience sometimes…” He paused, “Well sometimes they need to be made to listen… or like.. Well they’ll never listen unless something is said, cause then there will be nothing- you know- to listen too.”</p><p>There it was. He was already sounding like them. So much for not stooping to their elevated level. He had about as much identity and stability as a piece of paper blowing in the wind. Shane leaned forward. The subtext had not been missed. Ryan felt a creeping vulnerability, like he was about to have the rug thoroughly yanked from under him. It scared him, but at the same time, he wanted it. If only so he could prove that he was only here to humor himself, and for no other reason.</p><p>“Alright.” Shane said.</p><p>Ryan’s anxiety balled up in his throat, as Shane slid over one of the works to him.</p><p>“Why don’t you read it- and tell me if it’s the new word.”</p><p>As Ryan picked it up, shaky but doing his best not to show it, and read.</p><p>Who’s afraid? Tell me who’s afraid.<br/>When violence is only a party game<br/>In our lungs and on our faces<br/>And from the clean soil our parents raised us<br/>It always didn’t used to be this way they say<br/>We fought for something unlike today<br/>As if we fight for nothing- As if talk is all bluffing.<br/>As if we are all ungrateful til we too hold a gun!<br/>Don’t you see- it’s a right of passage to destroy the world...<br/>And the machine? They built it with sweat and blood<br/>And then they slick it’s gears with atom bombs<br/>They build their shelters and ask us to move along-<br/>To go to college- to go get a job-<br/>To do anything to ignore what’s going on.<br/>While they worship it day and night like an old god-<br/>A gilded calf of paper cups and chocolate bars-<br/>But it’s a drag- man- it’s a scheme-<br/>For sale for only 7 days of your week.<br/>Till your all smashed up on the empty bottle scene.<br/>Late Night was funny! I tell you, it was a scream!<br/>So why aren’t you laughing?<br/>I am… I am...</p><p>Ryan’s gaze held steady at the bottom of the page.</p><p>“So- ah-” Shane said, “Do you think it’s- y’know worth saying?”</p><p>A beat of silence passed. The words burned into the back of his brain like neon.</p><p>Ryan folded over the napkin. “Yes,” He said, “I do.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bonus Steven and Andrew in this one! I just though it would be fun to make fancy boi Steven be a nonconsumerist hehe</p><p>Anyways- i hope the poem wasn't too bad! I didn't want to directly rip an actual poem off so I tried to write my own :P</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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